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by saddle_tramp



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-18
Updated: 2011-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-15 18:29:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saddle_tramp/pseuds/saddle_tramp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pairing: Chris/Vin<br/>Rating: PG<br/>Summary: After another long trail, horse and rider both know what’s most important.</p><p>Notes: Ficlet inspired by one of my favorite Chris LeDoux songs, <i>Old Paint</i>, particularly this bit:<br/><i>Ridin' back from town tonight,<br/>I don't need the pale moonlight.<br/>This old horse knows his way home.<br/>I don't have to touch the reins,<br/>He's right on track just like a train.<br/>This old horse knows his way home.</i></p><p>Peso’s not a paint, but yeah. Nowhere in the song is a horse’s color mentioned anyway, only in the title. ;-D</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

 

The black mustang gelding moved steadily down the wooded hillside, almost silent other than the soft sounds of twigs breaking under his hooves. He was far off the trail but confident of his path and surefooted despite the pockets of ice and snow between the trees. The moon was far from full but the gelding had traveled on nights with much less light to go by and showed no hesitation to move out, even speeding his gait when the trees opened enough to allow it.

The mustang's rider had stopped early that evening at a familiar spring to let him drink while his rider wolfed down a hunk of cheese and some stale bread that he had shared with the black, and then his rider had mounted again and given him his head. The black knew where they were going, on familiar territory and ready to reach the end of their journey after another hurried trip far outside their normal range. His rider was a good man but he often showed a puzzling need for long riding and stealthy pursuit, and he had never been one to give in or give up when his rider needed him. He didn’t need to understand why they must sometimes follow other horses until exhaustion forced them to stop, only that his rider asked it of him.

This most recent trip was no different. The black mustang had faithfully carried his rider far from their home range in the last several days, chasing a herd of mares and the men who pushed them down a trail with so little care his rider had been forced to shoot one they found with a shattered leg. The men had been caught finally and his rider had made sure they would never do such a thing again, and the black hadn't hesitated when his rider left the strangers they rode with to care for the mares and turned towards their backtrail. He had never particularly liked mares anyway, so he wasn't at all unhappy to get free of a group of tired, cranky broodmares that wanted nothing more than to take their discomfort out on the nearest target.

The black was ready for a rest and a good meal, of course, but his rider hadn't stopped him so he moved out as quickly as was safe, slowing only when the terrain forced him to. They had made camp at the foot of a downed oak the night before, his rider's own blankets tossed over his back to keep off the snow while his rider slept exhausted at his feet, wrapped up in the saddle blanket and trusting the mustang to guard him. None had approached them, and hours before dawn his rider had been saddling up again to continue their journey.

If his rider had wanted to make a cold camp somewhere this night, he would have found a sheltered place and at least removed the black's saddle long before now. His rider did neither of those things, instead dozing between checks of their surroundings that were more habit than necessity, so he moved steadily on towards the warm barn he knew always waited for him if he just kept moving long enough. The land they passed through now was very familiar, so the mustang knew it wasn’t much farther.

His rider had been a lonely man much of the time the black had known him, taking trails with many other humans while always as wary of those same humans as a lone deer scenting wolves, but that had finally changed. They had a herd now, companions that could be trusted to take the same trails and give an alert to danger while they slept, and he was as anxious to return to them as his rider was. He knew as well as his rider did that a warm place to sleep, friends, and a good feed waited for them over the next hill, and he wasn't stopping until they reached it.

The black emerged from the trees onto a well-worn trail then and his head went up a little higher. He turned slightly onto the trail and moved out faster, ears pricking as his sensitive nose caught the scent of hay and woodsmoke ahead. His rider shifted, glancing around again and then leaning forward, one cold hand patting on the side of his neck as that familiar voice murmured, "Not far now."

The black mustang’s ear flicked back and he broke into a jog, ears twitching at the low sound from his rider that he knew meant his rider was amused. His rider shifted slightly again and his gait extended obligingly, hooves thudding rhythmically against the frozen ground as they topped the last hill. His rider sat up straight then and the black halted in a flurry dirt and snow, pawing impatiently and fidgeting around to stand side-on to the wide meadow below. He could see the familiar barn and pasture that were his home, and beyond them was the snug cabin where his rider spent most of his nights.

The black’s rider patted his neck again and then gave him his head, and he leapt into a gallop down the hill, leaving the curving trail to take the straightest path across the meadow separating them from their home. His rider's fingers twitched on the reins and he shifted his course slightly, impatient for his stall and feed but willing to detour first to the cabin. His rider would want to greet his own herdmate before he saw to the black’s needs or his own, and the black didn't object. His rider would go first to the cabin regardless, and putting up a fuss just made it take longer to reach his own snug stall.

The door to his rider's home opened just before they reached the hard-packed ground in front of it. A lantern suddenly illuminated them just as the mustang slid to a halt, finding the energy to prance and fidget in his excitement to be home. His rider chuckled and steadied him enough to dismount, then ran his hand soothingly along the black’s shoulder murmuring, "Easy, fellah. We’ll get you fed and warm in a minute."

The quiet man walked easily across the porch and then down the stairs towards them, putting the lantern on the edge of the porch and then approaching as he murmured, "About time. Missed havin' you around."

The black’s rider took a step towards the man, blue eyes sparkling as his lips curved into a slow smile. "You coulda come with me."

"Someone had to hold down the fort," the quiet man replied with a smile of his own. "Can't leave Buck and Ezra both with nobody to keep 'em in line. Ezra might've talked someone into buyin’ the whole damned town."

The quiet man didn't wait for the black gelding’s rider to answer before he took the last step needed to close the distance between the two men, reaching to pull his rider in close. His rider's hat was dislodged a few moments later by fingers running through the tangled hair it had covered, the hat thumping lightly against the black’s nose when it fell. He snorted softly, shoving his rider forward against the quiet man who already stood so close. Humans could be silly, he knew, but there was a warm barn and feed just a few feet away. His rider seemed to need a reminder of that, so he tugged his reins and took a step that direction.

The black's rider chuckled soft and low again, murmuring against the quiet man's lips, "Someone's gettin' impatient." The was a slight pause as the he swayed closer for another kiss, then added softly, "Got good reason to. He's covered a lot of trail for me, last few days."

The quiet man smiled and kissed the black’s rider again, then moved away to retrieve the lantern again. "Stall's ready. I even put a good feed in the trough for him."

"Knew I kept you 'round for some reason," the black’s rider said as he turned away to finally lead him towards the warmth of the barn, hat still hanging back against his shoulders. "'Sides keepin’ me warm, I mean. I just about froze to death last night."

The quiet man just laughed and followed them with the lantern held high, lighting their path.

The black's rider opened the barn doors just enough to lead him inside, leaving the door for the quiet man to close as he led the black to his stall. His rider slipped off the bridle at the doorway, letting him walk into it and straight to the grain box in the corner. He dug in with gusto, wolfing down a huge bite of the sweetened oats and corn and then heaving a grateful sigh as his rider removed his saddle. His own rider seldom added as much sweet to the grain as the quiet man did, so he was always glad to scent the quiet man’s hands in his feed. In the time since his rider began to live here, the black had learned to like the quiet man almost as much as his own rider. The quiet man never failed to treat him with respect, despite whatever his words might say, and he often slipped the black a bite of bread or fruit when he thought no one would notice.

A moment later the black mustang's rider began to brush his shaggy coat, smiling as the quiet man moved to do the same on the other side. The black's ears flicked back to listen to them as he ate, used to the soothing murmur of their voices. His rider and the quiet man they ran with were very good at brushing, though they didn’t often brush him together, and he was itchy and dirty from too long on the trail. Usually the quiet man had his own horse to care for, but so late at night the other gelding was dozing in the next stall.

"Hard ride?" the quiet man asked softly, running a brush smoothly over the black's hip to clear away the dust there that had gotten damp in the snow and dried to mud.

"Could call it that," his rider agreed, sounding more amused than he looked. "Near to a hundred and fifty miles I bet, countin’ there and back."

"Damn." The quiet man chuckled soft and low, then teased, "Losin' your touch? I expected you to find 'em a bit faster than that."

The black’s rider glanced up from his work as he replied dryly, "No, just tryin' not to run any of Morgan's horses to death. Them hands he sent with me were ridin' nags worse'n any self-respectin' cowpuncher should."

The quiet man laughed. "I could've told you that. Morgan puts every penny into his breeding stock, not his remuda."

"Rather go alone than stop five times a day to reshoe a nag ain’t even got the brains to stand for me to help it. They musta throwed a dozen shoes between the five of 'em by the third day. Never seen hooves so busted up in my life." The black’s rider snorted, disgusted. "Had to leave two of 'em behind an' find them hands somethin’ else to ride. Morgan owes me twenty bucks, besides the bounty he put on them mares. Damn hands was flat broke an' we was miles from a town so I had to rent 'em nags from a farmer wanted an arm an' a leg, besides keepin’ Morgan’s nags to be sure his own would come back."

"How 'bout the mares?" the quiet man asked, amused. "They have trouble with the trail?"

"Some. Had to shoot one of them. Broke her leg and them damned rustlers just left her behind to suffer. Beat herself half to death thrashin' around 'fore I found her and ended it." Something in his rider’s voice gave away how that kind of waste upset him, and the black shifted slightly to glance back at him. “Damned shame, too. She was a nice one ‘fore they ran her off her feet.”

"We knew they were trash after they shot Morgan's pet stud when they took them mares," the quiet man said reasonably. "Don't surprise me none that they ran 'em too hard."

"Didn't surprise me neither," the black’s rider protested slightly, "just pissed me off."

The quiet man snickered. "Won't be worryin' about a trial then?"

"Nope," the black’s rider agreed. “They was all shot tryin' to kill a duly appointed deputy of the law.” He looked just a bit smug as he bent to brush the black’s lower legs. "Yell I gave when I snuck into their camp might've had somethin' to do with the grabbin' for their guns, but there ain’t nothin’ about spookin’ ‘em in the lawbooks." He paused slightly and added, "I let 'em get their guns up before I shot 'em. Wanted it to be fair."

The quiet man snorted even as he crouched to brush the black’s legs on the other side. "Damn fool. Shoulda shot 'em in their blankets. You get another hole in your hide and I might have to hurt you myself."

"You're all bark, cowboy," the black’s rider said with one final swipe of the brush over the black’s shaggy belly, smirking at the quiet man. He stood and moved to put the brush back on the ledge in front of the stall and then leaned against the wall between the door and the water bucket to watch and wait. "You talk a big game, but you're 'bout as likely to hurt me as Peso here."

"You already forgettin' him bitin' your ass last week?" the quiet man asked, smirking as he ducked a bit lower and looked at the black’s rider, hands and brush smoothing along a shaggy foreleg to clear away the last of the mud.

"Eh, that don't count," the black’s rider said, dismissing the idea. "I pissed him off, swattin' his ass with my hat to run him out in the meadow that mornin'. He was just retaliatin’ in kind."

The quiet man chuckled softly, standing up again and patting the black's hip as he finished his own work and moved around to stand close to the black’s rider, reaching past to put away the other brush. "And you think I won't retaliate if you go an get yourself shot up? I kinda like you in one piece."

The black mustang snuffled up the last few oats and turned towards the water bucket, taking a slow drink and watching as his rider smiled slowly and murmured, "You'd be too busy fussin' over me like a hen with one chick to kick my ass. We been down that trail before."

The quiet man just looked at the black’s rider for a moment and then let out a soft laugh and admitted, "Maybe so, but I'd sure _think_ about beatin' some sense into you."

"Think about it all y' like," his rider teased, "but if you wanna think about it t’night, do it after I’m asleep. I'm cold an' I got definite plans for how you're gonna warm me up."

The quiet man smirked and swayed a bit closer, pushing the black’s rider back more firmly against the wall. "So do I."

The black’s rider kissed the quiet man and then slipped out from between him and the wall, heading out the door of the stall and then grabbing the lantern as he moved towards the barn doors. "Don't forget the stall door."

The quiet man laughed and moved, closing the stall and then walking quickly after the black’s rider.

The barn door closed a moment later and the black mustang let out a low snort, turning away from the water bucket to go bury his muzzle in the hay manger. Riders were silly, but the quiet man was good for his rider. They didn't travel so much alone anymore, and that could only be a good thing.

The black was no mule, no matter how often the quiet man might call him one, but even mules know that everyone needs a herd.

 

~End


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